


No Need For Confrontations

by hitokiri



Series: No Need [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Confusion, Derek is confused as hell, F/M, Malia is frustrated, Possessive Malia, Possessiveness, Scent Marking, Scenting, Stalia is kind of a thing, peter is a creep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1905189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitokiri/pseuds/hitokiri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malia confronts Derek who is just as in the dark as she is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Need For Confrontations

**Author's Note:**

> This is more Malia than anything. I guess you could say her third person POV.
> 
>  **emrys90** said Malia confronting Derek would be a good idea. So. Here. If you don't like Stalia, I'm sorry, but I'm trying to keep it as close as possible to the show. So.
> 
> This is mainly her thoughts on everything.
> 
> Sorry that it's short! I don't have a feel for her character yet.

When Malia climbs in through Stiles's bedroom window later that night, it's to Stiles's sleeping form like always, but this time he's curled in on himself, cocooned in his comforter like he'll crumble without it. She scents the room quickly for danger, then closes the window once she knows it's clear. Her boots are unzipped and left unceremoniously under the window with her jacket and t-shirt, leaving her in only a tight tank top and her jeans.

The jeans are the tricky part. They're stuck to her left thigh by the blood from the Berzerker's cut and, considering it still hasn't healed, it hurts to peel off her skin. She hisses quietly, a quick intake of breath that doesn't even stir Stiles, but she worries no less.

With the ruined pants off, she gently pries the blanket from Stiles and he groans in sleep, but doesn't wake, giving her the opportunity to climb into bed behind him. Her arm curls around his torso and pulls him to her while she noses at the back of his neck, scenting him. Her nose twitches and a snarl tries to fight its way from her chest. He smells of Derek, too much to have just been waiting for Scott.

Suppressing waking the boy to ask, she makes sure to softly cover the unwanted scent before slipping into a restless sleep for a few hours before school in the morning. She's gone before Stiles even wakes this time.

* * *

"You're even more distracted today," Lydia says offhandedly when Malia opens her locker before lunch to put her books away.

Malia's words are muffled by the pen in her mouth when she replies, "What do you mean?"

Lydia scoffs. "I _mean_ ," she exaggerates the 'mean' with an eyeroll, "That you're worse than Stiles when he forgets to take his Adderall." Malia manages to tamp down the way her ears want to perk at the mention of Stiles. "Your head is nowhere near school today."

"And?" Malia says, shrugging. "I'm still learning. Coyote for eight years, remember?"

"If that's the case," Lydia looks thoughtful. "How about I help you?"

This feels a lot like a trap, Malia thinks, but she does need help, and when she's with Stiles all she wants to do is kiss him. Maybe Lydia could even help her figure out what Stiles is hiding from her. It seems there are two things now, anyway.

She nods, says, "Okay," and shuts her locker so they can both walk to the lunchroom.

* * *

It's primal, the way she wants to be all over him and under him and with him. The way she wants their scents to be one; how she wants him only to smell like her and her like him, like they're together. She can't explain the way she feels like he's _safe_ when he's covered in her scent. Like no one can touch him again. But she does. She can't erase the way she feels and that scares the hell out of her; the fact that Stiles feels like he's _it_ for her, while she still hasn't been able to make the scent of _Derek_ and _fear_ disappear from his body. She doesn't know what to do, so she kisses him and kisses him and kisses him until he's trembling under her from something so far from fear, the only thing it could be is pure, unbridled passion.

* * *

It takes a week, but she finds herself at Derek's loft, standing just outside the giant rusted steel door. She doesn't know whether to knock, or let herself in.

The choice is taken from her when Peter opens the door, a shine to his eyes she doesn't trust in the slightest. "Malia," he says and his voice just creeps her the hell out, she has to fight back a cringe. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" But there isn't admiration in his eyes today. He's drained, but she doesn't blame him, what with the amount of money he'd just had stolen.

"I'm here for Derek," she says, crossing her arms over her chest, cold.

"Derek?"

Malia rolls her eyes, growls through her teeth, "Yes, Derek. Is he home?"

"Derek," Peter says again, this time a statement, and steps aside to let Malia in. He walks out once she's in, says to her, "I was leaving anyway. Goodbye, nephew. Malia."

The door closes behind him and Malia mutters, "Creep," before walking further into the seeminly empty loft. "Derek!" she says, louder, and he descends the stairs, a scowl on his face.

Derek's eyes are glowing yellow when he says, "What are you doing here."

Malia is across the room in seconds, inches from Derek. Her eyes are blue and her fangs are out without her even realizing it. "You smell like him," she growls, right in his face and he snarls back. "What did you do to him?" She's shoved two steps back by the clawed hand wrapped around her throat and she chokes around the appendage, needing air. Her equally clawed hands wrap around Derek's wrist and dig in, hoping to get him to let go, to no avail. "Let... me go," she gasps, and he drops her.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he growls back, ten steps away like they'd never been near each other. "I didn't do anything to anyone. I've been in here, stuck with Peter's sulking." There was a hint of bitterness in his voice, too, but she doesn't say as much. "I've left everyone alone, and I've been expecting to be allowed the same."

She considers him for a moment, then says, "You really don't know."

He's annoyed and frustrated when he asks, "Know _what_?"

"That Stiles smells like you -- _why_ he smells like you."

"Excuse me?"

She doesn't know her claws are out until she runs a hand through her hair and her scalp stings where she nicks herself. It heals just as quick, moments later, but it still hurts momentarily. "I haven't been able to get your scent off of Stiles," she says, frustrated. "He's showered plenty of times. I've tried to cover it with my own, but it won't. Go. Away." She can't help the frustrated growl that escapes her throat. "I need it fixed. Now. I don't _like_ it."

Derek wipes his hand down his face and heaves a great sigh, says, "I'll go see him, see what made that happen."

Malia nods and leaves the loft. She needs to clear her head, and the only thing that's been known to do that is a run through the woods. At the treeline, three miles from Beacon Hills, Malia strips and shifts, giving herself to her more primal urges and _runs_ , runs like it's the only things she knows; like it's the only thing that's true and real and honest to her. Because it is. Running has never failed her.

**Author's Note:**

> If I didn't completely ruin this, a Derek POV one will be next.


End file.
